Pour l'Amour de France
by Sparrow's feathers
Summary: France was his only love. That's what he said and his friends just laughed, though not in his face. They knew that someday he'd find a girl that would capture his heart, just like they feared the authorities would capture them. They just didn't know when.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: first Les Mis fanfiction! Yay. So read, follow and/or review. Sorry if the format's strange, this chapter was written on my BlackBerry.

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables nor any of the productions linked to Les Miserables. I do however own a t-shirt and a book full of pictures as well as a program from a show at the Queen's in London. Moreover, all and any people mentioned in this story are fictional, so if one resembles you and I end off killing it, please take no offence. Also, I do not own 'Think of me' by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Au Feu

France was his only love he said and his friends merely laughed. They knew that someday he'd meet a girl. And someday he did. He ran right into her actually. It was in the morning and he was late, thanks to his drunkard friend who had stayed at his place once again keeping him up all night and when he did finally get to sleep he woke a few hours later to find his so-called friend gone. "I'll kill him, I swear I will." He said as he ran to his class. He didn't notice the girl who was running straight at him untill it was to late.

"Oh Monsieur! I am so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going!"

"Well look out next time." Was his answer.

He noticed dark curls whoosing down and then a pair of crystal blue eyes. She handed him his books and turned to leave. He couldn't help but notice that her cheeks were red and tear stained, despite her cheerful demeanour. Being a gentleman, he called out.

"Hey! What's your name Mam'zelle?"

"Jeanne de Larive, monsieur."

"I am Antoine Enjolras. Are you well?"

Her hand flew to her cheek attempting to wipe away the stains left.

"I am fine . Do not worry. Were you not in a hurry Monsieur?"

"Yes, yes I was. Thank you!" He tossed over his shoulder as he ran off.

When he arrived in his class, he found it in an uproar. He sat down next to Marius and asked him what was going on.

"You know Charles? He sat right infront of us. Apparently he died and his sister came to collect his things. Of course Grantaire had to make a crude comment and the poor thing burst into tears. Did you know she is at the conservatoire? I hear she has a lovely voice."

"Is her name Jeanne de Larive by any chance?"

"It is, have you been following the happenings at the Opera, Enjolras?"

"I'd think you'd know me better then that by now. I ran into her in the hall. She seemed upset."

Before either of them could get another word in, the professer called the class to order. Still, Enjolras told himself that perhaps he could miss one meeting at l'ABC to go to the Opera. He had to keep up appearences after all. At least that's what he told himself why he would go. Once class was out he went to l'ABC, as usual, but when Joly handed him the daily paper, he looked in the arts section to see when the next Opera that featured Jeanne de LaRive instead of going straight to the politics. For some odd reason, he could not get her blue eyes out of his head. This action did not go unnoticed by his friends.

"Enjolras! Now what in the opera has caught you eye? I doubt that there's something that will help us in this seasons production of Faust."

"It truly is none of your buisness, Feuilly, what interests me. I happen to fancy an opera, that is all."

"Are you sure it is not because of a certain little Jeanne de LaRive? Marius tells me you met her."

"Be quiet Grantaire or I will quiet you myself. You are not a child so act it. "

Grantaire mocked looking wounded and walked off. Probably to get another bottle. Pushing the little signer to the farthest part of his mind, Enjolras launched off into one of his speaches. He became so enthralled that he did not see when a small hooded figure with blue eyes peeking out from under it steped in. The figure just stood there, looking around when the door burst open once more.

"THE CONSERVATOIRE'S ON FIRE!" Yelled a man.

Enjolras stopped in mid sentence. He pratically ran to the door, earning quizical looks from his friends. He was about to leave when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Thinking ot was one of his companions he shook it off and was suprised when he heard a small yelp. He had accidentaly pushed the person who had stoped him. He turned to see the small figure fall and her hood fell from her face, letting he darks curls free, her blues eyes wide. Thud.

"It seems it is the second time I am at your feet monsieur." Said the girl.

Enjolras could detect a smell of smoke coming from her. She must have run away from the conservatiore just in time.

"It seems so mam'zellle de LaRive. You appear to be making this a habit."

She got up and dusted off her dress that he could now see was singed.

"Are you hurt mam'zelle?" Asked Marius, forever the gentleman.

"Only my pride m'sieur."

Enjolras took the time to look at the girl infront of him. Her dark curls were in disarray her pale skin dirty with soot. There was a certain terror in her blue eyes, a terror that he could see she was desperately trying to supress. She was pettite, and he could see that the dress she wore quite obviously didn't belong to her or that she didn't own any dresses that fit her; She appeared to be swimming in the one that she was wearing. She shot him a uncertain smile and he realized that he was staring.

"Were you in the fire?"

"I...I was. I believe that it started on the stage. I was in the dormitories and when we heard the cries...well it was 'throw something on and run.' I don't know if anyone else made it. Charles often spoke of this place so I came here."

"Combeferre, could you take a look at her? Make sure she's well?" Marius asked.

"Of course. Come here, my dear."

She looked at Enjolras, as if she was asking him if it was alright. He nodded her on. She walked towards the medical student her hands firmly clasped infront of her. Enjolras was quite sure that would she unclasped them them they would be shaking. He watched as his friend picked up the girl and placed her on a table then turned back to the door. He could smell the smoke in the air, and suddenly it hit him; Jeanne had no place to go. Her school was burning to the ground at that very moment and her brother died. Charles had once mentioned that the rest of his familly had passed. The idea of her selling herself on the street enraged Enjolras more then Bonaparte who's system made the people suffer. She was the type of person that he was fighting for. It was for the children, women and men with no place to go that the Revolution would help.

"She's all right. A bit undernourished, but that can be fixed."

He turned back to her and saw that she was looking straight at him.

"Good. Get her something to eat, Grantaire."

"Why me?"

"Because you made her cry this morning and you owe her."

"Really m'sieur, I'm not hungry it's not a problem! And I can not pay you back. Let it be M'sieur Enjolras. "

Enjolras shook his head and walked up to the girl.

"It doesn't matter. You need to eat; Combeferre said as much and I trust his judgement."

Soon enough Jeanne was eatting a piece of bread, a cup of something hot in front of her.

"I know how you can repay me shouted Grantaire suddenly, you can sing us something!"

Being a responsible child who had been brought up to always repay her debts, she accepted. When she began to sing, a hush fell over the occupants of the cafe. For once Enjolras' mind was blank. He could hardly even bring himself to comprehend the lyrics that, for once, were in french.

"...there will never be a mo-ment where I don't think of you-!" She finished, did a curtsy and jumped off her makesift stage, for Grantaire had insisted that she stand on a table to be seen. Applause erupted throughout the cafe and she blushed.

"Well, that was marvelous, Mam'zelle, but I'm afraid we must close now, so messieurs, if you would kindly leave..." Said the owner.

All the color drained from the girls face as she watched her companions stumble out one by one ( for most of them had been drinking) untill it was only her and Enjolras left.

"Are you coming?" He asked.

She looked at him quizically.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm inviting you to stay at my appartment,seeing as you have no place to go."

She looked to the ground, a blush evident on. Her dirty cheeks.

"But M'sieur...that's really not proper."

"Then where will you go? I can't let you stay on the street."

"Plenty of people are on the street."

"Yes, but I couldn't do anything to keep them off it, I can for you. Viens."

Reculantly she followed, hardly believing her ears. She was happy that she had a place to stay, but part of her, the part that her mother influenced, shouted that this was not proper and that people would talk. She was afraid of what this man would expect of her in return for shelter and food, for she had no money and had heard stories about people who took girls off the street and in return those girls would...she shuddered at the thought.

They walked through the streets and Enjolras found himself having to constantly pull his young companion closer to him with every passing second as the street people came out of their shadows.

"C'm here pretty."

Jeanne let out a yelp as a man grabbed her arm.

"Let me go!"

Enjolras had to pull her away and punch the man.

"She said to let her go."

"Jus' lookin' fer company M'sieur. Didn't know that she was yers."

"She's not a- "

"Didn't mean that. Jus' that she was yers. Lucky man, ye'are. Married to a pretty lady like tha'."

Jeanne opened her mouth, most likely to object, but Enjolras didn't give her the time as he pulled her allong. A few blocks later he placed his arm around her waist.

"Wha- que fais-tu?"

"They'll leave you alone if they think that we're courting."

She blushed, but it was to dark for her companion to take notice. It was no secret that he was one of the best looking bachelors in Paris. Yet he had never been seen with a woman. Ever. Jeanne noticed that she was the first. The thought made her smile.

"We are here."

She looked at the building quickly before following her companion.


	2. Chapter 2

Doisclaimer: je n'ai pasles droits d'auter sur Les Miserables et tout ses associes.

Besoin de menage

Jeanne followed her host closely up a dark staircase. Seeing as there was no noise coming from the stairs that she was climbing, she could safely judge that the building was well kept. Appartments in buildings this well kept cost small fortunes. Charles had a room in a slightly less kept place, at which she went to have tea on Sundays after church. Her heart clenched at the thought of her brother. Her world seemed to be crumbling around her.

"We're here."

Enjolras opened the door, and sighed with content. His apparement was just as he left it. With every possible surface covered with books. He turned to invite his guest in, and found her on the ground, tears streaming down her face. He had never been good with emotions, so was at a loss as to what to do.

"Are you alright?" He asked, the silently scolded himself. She was crying. Of course she wasn't alright.

Jeanne looked up at him, and suddenly burst into sobs. Enjolras was confused as to what he had done. Women had always been a mystery to him. It had never occured to him that the reason for her distress was greif.

"Why don't you come inside and I'll make you some tea?"

She nodded weakly, still in tears. He helped her up and lead her into the cluttered flat. Looking around, he noticed that there was no place for her to sit. It took him a moment to locate his old divan under all of his drafted speaches, papers and books. Pushing its paper occupants to the floor, Enjolras sat Jeanne down on the divan, that despite it's battered appearance, had hardly ever been used. Once he had done that, he made his way over to the kitchen, which mainly consisted of a counter, water tap and a gas stove. 'Where in the world is that kettle?' He thought. To be honest, Enjolras wasn't even sure that he had a kettle, but faintly he remembered one lying around. After a few minutes of searching he found it, on the windowsil of all places.

Jeanne watched through teary eyes as the student ran around. Had she not been so distraught, she may have found it amusing. But she wasn't amused. She was in despair. Everything used to be certain in her life and now, the cards were in he air and Jeanne feared where they might fall. She wouldn't be able to live with the hospitable man who had taken her in forever. He would grow annoyed of her eatting his food with no income.

"Tiens. I'm not very well versed in gastronomy, but the tea should be drinkable."

"Merci."

She brought the cup to her lips and cringed at the taste. He wasn't lying when he said he wasn't well versed in gastronomy, she'd even say that his culinary skills matched those of a rat.

"Umm, do you want to talk about it?"

"My brother...and now the conservatiore. Everything's gone! I don't know how to do anything! I can't stitch, and have no qualifications for anything! I'm a half trained signer who can dance well enough!"

Enjolras hadn't expected her to want to speak and had caught him off guard when she had. Her fears were rational, and he could see no way to comfort her. For once Enjolras would've welcomed Grantaire's company. He was much better at socializing and prbably could've found something appropriate to say to the girl.

Meanwhile Jeanne was scolding herself. She knew that he had only asked because he was being polite, yet she couldn't stop herself from telling him her worries. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself.

"I am sorry, Monsieur, I do not know what came over me."

Her host nodded and she noted that he looked somewhat releived that she had dropped the subject. For one so charismatic, he seemed awkward around people. Balanceing her cup on her knees, Jeanne looked around for the first time. She wondered if Enjolras could find anything in the mess that was his home. It definately needed some cleaning. Quite a lot of cleaning.

"Well, you can take my bed, I suppose."

He pointed to a door that probably lead to the bedroom.

"Where will you sleep then?"

"Le divan. Seeing as it now has nothing on it, I can use it.

"I can sleep on the divan. You have class tomorrow and need your rest. I'll be fine."

Enjolras had opened his mouth to protest but seeing the girl's hard stare, he knew that there would be no convincing her.

"Alright then. I'll get you a pillow and blanket. Feel free to use the water closet, over there."

"Thank you."

She got up, placeing her cup on the paper covered coffee table and made her way to the washroom. It was like any other, but Jeanne felt joy when she realized that there would be no older girl yelling at her to hurry up. She wondered if this was the one room that wasn't covered in papers and books. Not wanting to impose, she merely washed her face in the sink, useing a cloth. 'This room too, need to be organized-and cleaned.' She could hardly see herself in the mirror because of the layers of grime. Leaving the room once she was done, Jeanne was surprised when a shirt was thrust into her arms.

"One of my shirts. To sleep in. Bonne nuit."

Jeanne couldn't help herself; she giggled. He was such an awkward man. A kind and awkward man.

"Bonne nuit!" She called after him as he closed the door to the bedroom before returning to the washroom to change.

The shirt reatched mid-thigh and she was glad the her host had gone to bed. It would have been scandalous if he had seen her. 'Why are you still concerned will scandal, Jeanne?' She asked herself, 'you are homeless, and sooner or later will end up on the street. Being proper really is the least of your worries.' Sighing Jeanne said her prayers and layed her head on the pillow provided for her. It was softer that anything she had ever had, except perhaps as a child, when she was living with her family. She pulled the blanket under her chin and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: this is sort of a filler chapter, and I know how everyone hates fillers, but the story couldn't function without it, I swear. Here we learn more about Jeanne's personality, and we see how Enjolras is. Some may say that him, being who he is, would never let his appartment get filthy as I describe it, but I see him that way; a genius in his field, but socially awkward on his own and quite incapable of takeing care of himself. He's the type to wear two different shoes. But to prevent that (and because he probably couldn't afford it) he's only got one pair. I'm doing my best to make the story as historically accurate as poosible (hence the lack of mention of a fridge...I think.), but because this is written on my phone, and I do not have a 4G plan, wifi is not always available.

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis, for further information on that, refer to the disclaimer in chapter one.

A Cours de Temps.

Jeanne woke to a clang then a string of swears. She sat up, especting to be sorounded by the familiar sound of the rest of the girls of the corps de ballet. Instead she was met with the sound of rummaging through papers and muttering. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. She was not in her dormitory. Her friend Anne was not in the cot next to her, trying to hide her head under her pillow desperately attempting to sleep for an other few minutes. She was in a disorganized appartment, papers everywhere, with a flustered student, cravat undone, waitcoat unbuttoned, balanceing three books in one hand and papers in the other. She blinked, once, twince and then one more time. Then it all came back. The news of her brother's death, the crude student who had made her cry, bumbing into M. Antoine Enjolras, the conservatoire fire, the Cafe. Enjolras bringing her back to his appartment. Her host looked up, and it seemed, that for a moment he forgot that she was there as well.

"Bon matin Monsieur."

"Bon matin. Well, I'm late and must be going, feel free to help yourself to anything. If you wish to go out, there ought to be a spare key somewhere...bien. A cet apres-midi."

"Passez une bonne journee."

He nodded and walked out the door, leaving Jeanne to herlsef in a unfamiliar environment. 'Well, she thought, if I will be staying here, I may as well make myself useful and clean up.' She decided to start with the papers. Some where unsued, others had bits of sentences scrawled on ther corner. Making piles, she sorted them best she could. Her brother had taught her the basics of reading, but the technical terms used in the texts were a mystery to her. Mainly, she stacked the ones useing the same terms together. After about an hour, she could see the coffee table, and had found four coffee cups, the spare key, around 20 francs and at least six empty ink bottles. She stared to make a seperate pile for dirty dishes after the sixth cup. She now had two stacks dedicated to blank paper, one to small bits of sentence, one to a technical term that she thought had to do with law, another two for a term that could be related to politics and three stacks for what she could make out as drafts for speaches. By this time she had also come across a great many books that she neatly piled up, promising that she would tackle the bookcases that lined the far wall next. It was then that her stomac growled and she realized that she hadn't eatten since the hot cocoa that had been provided for her the night before. Standing, she brushed off her dress, and made her way to the stove, careful not to step on any of the papers she had yet to sort. Reaching for the cabinet out of which she saw her host get tea, she suddenly stopped. He hadn't told her that she could eat his food. She took her cup from he previous night and opted for water.

Around three hours later, one could see the floor, countertops, two windowsils, the small table that Jeanne hadn't even noticed before and the cabinets were no longer filled with paper. She counted twenty stacks of paper in all, and the dirty dish pile had grown exponentially. Sighing, she filled the sink with water and placed as many dishes in it to soak as she could before moving the pile to the counter tops.

"Bon, I've got the bookselves, the dishes, the floors to sweep (for she had found a broom under the table) as well as the bathroom left." She let out a sigh. It had sounded less discourageing in her head.

Looking at the titles of the books, she quickly gave up placeing them according to subject and opted for the traditional alphabetical system. Fourty minutes later, the shelves were filled and she had even managed to put some of the papers in drawers that occupied the bottom half of two of the bookcases. She put the blank sheets on the table, allong with the ones that could still be used despite the few words on them. Once this was done, she returned to the sink, and taking a rag (it was under a book on the windowsil along with a dish towel) she began scrubbing. Jeanne had to climb onto the counter (after moving the dishes that had yet to be washed) to put away the clean ones in the cabinets. She knew that she was small in stature, but only now did she realized just how small. In the corps de ballet she ad been the smallest and often at the back. Now, she had tro climb onto chairs to reach high shelves. She placed the second load of dished into the sink and moved to sweep the floor, after opening the windows for some air (she found that dirty coffee cups made excellent paper wieghts for the papers on the table).

Wipeing her brow and tucking her haoir behind her ears, she admired her handiwork. Although there were piles of miscelanious objects on the coffee table, the chair and the couch, the appartment looked infinately better. There were no books on the floor and the papers that could be seen were in neat stacks. Jeanne felt that her host would be happy. He would be able to find his things now, and there would no longer be need for a search party when he needed the kettle. She smiled and softly sung to herself as she washed the last of the dishes. Then she stopped. While putting away the clean dishes, she hadn't seen any food in the cabinets besides some coffee and tea. What did her host eat? He did eat, didn't he? Finishing the dishes, she wiped her hands on her dress, picked up a pen from on of the piles on the coffee table and sat at the table with a sheet of blank paper to write a list of groceries. 'Bread, cheese, dried fish, potatoes, any fruit or vegetable that could be procured, cooking oil." She had never learned to write and was certaing that the few items were misspelled, but she was aldo certain that he would understand. Just in case, she had drawn the item next to it. Caping the pen, she returned to the pile of things that were waiting for her. She had reserved a drawer in the book case for pens and writing instruments, and alloted a chipped bowl to holding the spare keys and small trinkets such as cufflinks. She used another bowl to hold the francs she found (around 72 francs total). Mainly, she found, that the objects were garbage. Taking one of the eight paperbags that she found, she filled it with the trash. Finally, she folded her blanket and placed it on the corner of the couch, her pillow atop it. It was then the the door opened and in stumbled the sutdent the had made er cry, Grantaire, she beleived, the medical student that had examened her, her host as well as an other student that was at the cafe. They all walked in then froze.

"I think we've got the wrong appartment, Enjolras." Said the medical student.

"Heyyyyyy! J'te connais toi! You're the little singer that our Apollo took under his wing!"

"I hope that it's all right that I tydied up. You seemed quite annoyed with the mess this morning."

"Alright? Petite, we haven't seen Enjolras' appartment this clean...ever. What you've done is amazing."

"It was nothing really. I'm not sure I organized the papers correctly, I couldn't understand most of them, though. Oh, and I also made a grocery list, because you've got no food whatsoever, Monsieur."

"See Antoine? You need a woman's touch in you life."

"Where's this list?"

At her host's request, Jeanne crossed the room to the table where her list lay waiting and the handed it to him.

"I'm not very good at writing, but I hope you understand."

"Oui."

Grantaire peeked over his shoulder. "Aw, look, she made little drawings for you!"

The medical student, who's name she now remembered to be Combeferre, took the list.

"Poisson is spelled with two 's's. If not it makes poison. 'Huile' has an 'h' at the beggining and 'Pain' is written p-a-i-n. Though I must say your drawings are quite well done."

Jeanne blushed. How could she have forgotten how to write bread, of all things? It was at the base of everyone's diet after all! Her stomac then decided that this was the oportune moment to remind her that she had not eatten all day.

"Euh, desole."

"I'll go out and get these. Combeferre, why don't you start on the assignment without me" said her host after he set down his books and papers.

His friend nodded and the drunk whined about not being adknlowledged. She wasn't sure how long they would be staying, but something told her, weather it was for an hour or the night, time would take it's sweet time passing.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N; So...must I stress my need for feedback? As wonderful as subscribers are (and trust me, you are wonderful), I'd really appreciate reviews. What you think of Jeanne, the way I write Enjolras, suggestions, etc. Now I know that some will skip this A/N (I am guilty of doing it too) and just not reviewing, but I'd really appreciate the feedback. So, in this chapter you get to know a bit more about Jeanne. I don't want to just list her qualities and faults in a caracter profile, and some of them are subtlely said. At some point, I may actually do one of those carcater profiles (yes I am contradicting myself) but that'll be later when the plot thickens. I'm introduceing a new caracter, and still working out the kinks in her, so be easy on poor Mme Tremblay.

La Poche de Joie

Jeanne sat on the couch, pillow over her head, desperately trying to muffle the argument that was going on at the table behind her. It had started when Grantaire had started looking over her shoulder as she made dinner. She was a pretty decent cook, seeing as her favorite place to go when she had free time at the conservatoire was the kitchen. She had picked a great many things up sitting there after rehersals. Grantaire had started pestering her as she sliced the bread, about everything. Where was her family from, how old she was, what was her favourite color and the like. She had answered politely to every question, but when he asked what her brother had died of she was at a loss. Enjolras had steped in saying that it was horrible manners to ask such a thing, especially seeing as the event was so recent. Grantaire had repleid that if he had payed attention to him, he would have to resot to talking to her. The argument gradually escalated to shouts. Jeanne was a quiet girl, and the shouts frightened her. The two other students present ignored the argument, they were used to it. Only when there was a loud knock on the door did the two men quiet. Jeanne got up, eager for an escape from the noise.

At the door was a woman, around fourty, a baby in her arms.

"Voulez-vous vous taire! I've had enough of your arguments! I've got two children to put to bed!"

"Desole, Madame" said Jeanne.

The woman looked at Jeanne, inspecting her. Then back at the men in the room.

"And you don't even take care of this girl! Look at her! Dirty face, tangled hair, and the state of that dress. You ought to be ashamed of yourself M. Enjolras. Viens, petite. I thing one of Clara's old dresses will fit you nicely."

Jeanne looked back to Enjolras, who was standing there, stunned. It hadn't occured to him that Jeanne may need or want a dress. When he noticed her questioning gaze, he nodded her on.

"Vas-y. I'm quite sure we can manage to slice bread on our own."

He watched as her face lit up and followed Madame Tremblay to her flat next door.

"You really didn't think that Jeanne may need an other dress, did you?"

"Non."

"Enjolras, if I may, what do you know about Jeanne?"

"Just that she's Charles' sister, that she went to the conservatoire and that she appears to have a talent for running into people."

"That's nothing. Enjolras, you don't even know her age! If you have any intention of living with the girl, you're going to have to speak to her. She's probably wondering what you expect her to do to earn her keep. Not to mention if you're okay with how she cleaned up. You haven't said anything about it."

"Of course I'm fine with it! She's done me an enormous favor, Coufreyac."

"You have to tell her that. She doesn't know you like we do."

Enjolras pondered this as he cut the bread. It was true; he hardly knew anything about her. Grantaire knew more of her at the moment. He didn't know if she could read. She could write, but would need to be taught the exceptions in the french language. Her speach suggested that she was high born, but she went to the conservatoire. He decided that she was most likely of the upper class bourgeoisie. He made a mental list of things to ask her when she returned.

Next door Jeanne was enjoying a warm bath. Madame Tremblay had insisted on helping her. She felt as if she was back at home, when she was a child.

"You have beautiful hair, Jeanne. You ought to take care of it."

"Oui Madame."

Her dress, that she now realized was actually Anne's, lay in a heap on the floor, and a pale pink that bordered on lavender one lay neatly on a chair next to the tub, along with undergarnments. She finished washing and Mme. Tremblay left her to get dressed. Looking in the mirror Jeanne smiled. Her hair had been put in a braid and her eyes shone brightly as she admired it. She'd have to ask Mme to teach her. Dressing Jeanne sighed. It was nice to be clean once again. Smoothing the skirt of the dress, she cast one last look at the mirror and opened the door.

"Ah! Que tu es belle! I'm so glad that Clara's dress fits you. Come, sit with me. Jean is out this evening and I'm in need of company. Have a cup of coffee and tell me about yourself."

Jeanne sat at the table, gratfully accepting the cup that was offered to her.

"What do you wish to know?"

"Where you come from, your family and especially why your living with Monsieur next door."

"Well, she began, my family is originally from Marseilles, but we moved to the outsikts of Paris when I was three."

"I thought I heard a Marseilles accent. Your family?"

"Oui. My brother was a student, studying law, Papa was a buisness man and Maman, well she was Maman. I went to the conservatoire after we fell into some money trouble, where I've learned how to sing and dance. Charles, my brother, died of a fever two days ago and when I got the news I went to get his things that were at the college."

"That's how you met Monsieur?"

"Oui, but I don't think I made a very good first impression. I ran right into him you see and he seemed awfully late. Anyway, after that I went back to the conservatoire. I was late for rehersal and the Madame, she's in charge of the corps de ballet, gave me an awful scolding. I went back to the dormitories and that's when-"

"When there was the fire" Madame Tremblay seemed to be engrossed in Jeanne's story. She had lead a painfully dull life, with four children and a husband. To her, Jeanne's life seemed to be novel, filled with adventure.

"Yes, that's when we heard the stagehands screaming 'au feu, au feu!' I was half dressed, getting ready for bed you see, so I had to grab whichever dress was nearest and put it on and run. I ran to a cafe that my brother had told me about and that's where I saw Monsieur for the second time. He bought me some food and had his friend who's studying medecine make sure that I wasn't hurt. I sang for them, all the students I mean, and then we had to go. He offered to let me stay with him, and well, voila."

It had felt good to tell her story. She hadn't realized how much she had wanted to get it out, and Madame Tremblay was an excellent listener.

"You poor thing. But dear, you didn't tell me how old you are."

"J'ai 16 ans, I'll be 17 in three weeks."

The older woman nodded, pouring the girl an other cup of coffee.

"Where are you sleeping, next door of course."

"I'm not sleeping with him! I'm sleeping on the couch."

"I didn't mean it like that, Jeanne. But the couch...he should have offered you his bed, at least. That boy has no manners, I swear."

"He did offer me his bed. But he had class the next day, and was already doing me a favor by letting me stay with him, I couldn't put him out of a bed."

Madame Tremblay smiled and nodded. She should have known. Jeanne seemed to be a very kind and gentle girl, though quite sheltered. It was rare to find someone with such a good heart in Paris, and she wondered if her neighbor realized just how wonderful a girl he had under his roof. Just then, he youngest child Marc-Oliver decided to wail.

"FAIIMN!"

"Oh, dear. How about I make us something to eat. Jeanne could you play with Marc-Olivier while I do so?"

"Of course!"

Jeanne went over to the bassinet and picked up the child. He had big brown eyes and hair to match. He seemed to be around two.

"Allo! I'm Jeanne. What's your name?"

"Mack-Oliwer"

"Enchante Marc-Olivier"

He smiled and laughed. Jeanne did too. Marc-Olivier decided to give her a tour of the flat and point out all of his favorite places.

"Ca, c'est la swalle de bwain. I don't like it."

"Oh? Why not?"

"'Cuz bwaths are wet!"

"You're right they are!"

The little boy nodded, a serious look on his face.

"And that Maman!"

"I do believe I've met her. What do you like to do Marc-Olivier?"

"I like to pway wit ribbon. See?" He hobbled over to the bassinet and pulled a ribbon that was hanging over the edge then started hobbling as fast as his little legs would take him looking back at the ribbon flying behing him, occasionaly stopping, laughing.

Jeanne hadn't felt so good in a long time. Being here, with Marc-Olivier and his mother, Jeanne felt at home. She felt like she had found a pocket of joy in her otherwise joyless world. Maybe, just maybe, this would work out. Maybe she could find happiness here.

Grantaire, Coufreyac and Combeferre had left an hour ago and Jeanne still had not returned. Enjolras had tried to write a speach then quickly gave up. The only thing that his mind seem to focus on was the dark haired girl that was nextdoor. He couldn't figure out what about the tiny dancer that he had taken in facinated him so much. He knew that until he knew this, he wouldn't be able to focus on anything.


End file.
